


the rooftop where the heart meets the soul

by coykoi



Series: ‘tis the season (to be jolly) [5]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Soulmate AU, Spideychelle, a brief coffee shop appearance, and back to friends!, friends to soulmates to strangers, god do they yearn hard here, there is a happy ending in sight, they will be roommates for a hot minute honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28291263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: “I wished that we could have a choice, and I know—I know that it’s never going to happen, but if we did…”“If we did...what?” Michelle asks, hesitant to know the answer.“If we did,” Peter prompts, taking another sip of the alcohol before meeting her gaze. He looks flushed and dilated, and maybe his next words are a side of the alcohol, but she could never tell. “If we did, I would choose you. Always.”
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, background Betty Brant/Ned Leeds
Series: ‘tis the season (to be jolly) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061615
Comments: 78
Kudos: 112
Collections: Spideychelle Secret Santa - 2k20





	1. Chapter 1

It’s the way time stops.

It doesn’t just slow down, not like it would in the movies when the protagonist and the love interest finally figure things out, finally make a move. They get together, and it’s a black and white decision. There’s none of that here, no rain or music or shooting stars.

There’s just the two of them sitting on a roof, legs dangling over the edge, feet bare, and a bottle of red wine in between. It’s a summer night, the beginning of an end if she were to look back on it now.

Michelle should’ve known what she was getting herself into, seeing as she was only there to celebrate her best friend’s eighteenth birthday. It’s been a stressful year between the two of them, the lies and excuses of a certain secret identity piling up as months have gone by, but they’ve finally been honest with each other. Gotten over it and themselves.

“Thanks so much for this,” Peter tells her with a small smile, nodding towards the wine and the view. Both Michelle’s ideas, both very irresponsible. But it’s a special occasion, and he deserves something exhilarating every once in a while.

It’s funny, Michelle thinks, saying that as if Peter Parker’s life was far from exhilarating. At times, she wishes it were less so, but it’s not up to her as he would say.

“You’re welcome,” she responds quietly, ducking her head, curls falling loose from behind her ear. “Sorry. I know it wasn’t much this year.”

“Are you kidding? It was more than enough,” he says in a tone so earnest that she almost doesn’t believe him, knocking her foot into his. “You always do so much for me, MJ. I honestly...I don’t deserve you.”

Michelle can feel her cheeks heat up, an embarrassing flush, and quickly blames the alcohol, but she still twists her head away so that he can’t see. 

“Don’t be an idiot. We deserve each other in that weird...perfect way.” She looks down at her lap and the half-empty wine glass sitting between her legs. “Does being eighteen feel any different to you?”

And maybe changing the subject is her desperate attempt to drown out the thoughts that have always lingered in the back of her mind about him, about Peter. But who is she to question herself.

“Everyone makes it out to be such a big deal, and I guess it is, but I just...don’t like thinking about it.” Peter chews on his lower lip, looking at her. “I know you feel the same way.”

“Damn straight.” 

“Look at us go,” he says with a smile, clinking their cups together before taking a swig of his wine. “The older you get, the less you have control of, but not us. We might just be able to get a handle on this, yeah?”

“Parker, you’re finally getting wise in your old age,” Michelle jokes.

“And you’re getting meaner in yours,” Peter huffs teasingly, knocking his shoulder into hers but not too hard. He could knock her off the building if he really wanted. “You’re the only one who can make me...”

“Feel real emotion? Feel pain?” Michelle snorts, pinching his arm lightly, and he hesitates before nodding with a stupid grin on his face. It’s meant to be a joke but then she smiles back, his own starting to melt away, and it’s not so much the idea of pain anymore.

It’s just them looking at each other.

Peter is the first to break after a moment, glancing down, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he says, “I, uh...I wonder sometimes if I dig a hole for myself by just talking to you.”

“What kind of hole?”

“I dunno. Just a hole, I guess. I’m not sure if it’s you or me who’s making it harder to climb out of,” he tells her with a half-smile, and she can hear her own heart skip a beat—knows that he can hear it too. Unfair.

“Well. Guess that’s just another team effort of ours.” She trails off at his intense gaze and immediately looks up in effort to avoid him. “Just, uh, just like boycotting the meaning of our eighteenth birthdays together.”

“Yeah.” Peter heaves a sigh, the reminder coming back to him like a slap to the face. It’s a nice reality check. He almost laughs into his wine glass. “The universe really doesn’t care about us.”

“Can’t say it ever did.” Michelle shrugs, staring down at the people walking below them as her feet swing. She wonders how many have had their fates decided already. “Do you want to make a wish?”

“What?”

“It is your birthday,” she reminds him uselessly and pulls a paper plate from behind her. “I’d say make a wish on a star, but you can’t see any over here. So, I made you a cupcake. And by made, I mean bought.”

“Michelle,” Peter murmurs, and she can’t stand the look on his face—the one that says this really means something to him—because it’ll just end up as another one tucked away in the folds of her heart.

“Stop that. I got it from the bakery, and it’s a few days old and probably dry as fuck.” Michelle sticks a candle into the buttercream icing and lights it up, the flame nearly licking her fingertips. “Wish away, birthday boy.”

Peter’s eyes flit up to hers, and she can see the light in them reflecting. He takes a breath before releasing it, the candle going out in one.

They split the cupcake, and it’s pretty terrible, but Michelle thinks it was worth it now, just to see Peter smiling up at the moon as if it’s done something for him. She must make a face because he turns to her.

“You should ask me what I wished for.”

Michelle raises an eyebrow as she says, “Why, so you can blame me for when it doesn’t come true?”

Peter merely shrugs and picks up her wine glass, pouring more in without holding back. She understands more when he brings the bottle to his lips after, tipping his head back ever so slightly.

“I know it’s not going to come true either way. Remember, the universe doesn’t care about us?” He laughs sadly down at his lap. “I wished that we could have a choice, and I know—I know that it’s never going to happen, but if we did…”

“If we did...what?” Michelle asks, hesitant to know the answer.

“If we did,” Peter prompts, taking another sip of the alcohol before meeting her gaze. He looks flushed and dilated, and maybe his next words are a side of the alcohol, but she could never tell. “If we did, I would choose you. Always. And it would only be up to me. My own decision.”

Michelle swallows the words in her throat, overwhelmed with the feelings in her heart. She watches him watching her, only the glow of the moon and the dim rooftop light illuminating his face, but it’s enough to get a glimpse of urgency. He so desperately wants to do something on his own, and she’s too familiar with the feeling.

“Treat yourself then, Parker. Make a decision of your own,” Michelle tells him quietly, but she had never expected any results.

Because this is Peter. He’s not a rule breaker, not someone who tests limits or boundaries. It’s come to the point where he knows what he can and can’t control despite his dumb superhero complex sometimes getting the best of him.

And yet, he surprises her by taking a risk.

The bottle of wine becomes long abandoned as his hands tentatively reach for her instead, warm palms coming up to trace her cheeks, cupping them. His eyes search her face as if to look for a sign that she doesn’t want this.

Michelle can’t say she has any to give, knowing that she’s just as in this as he is—that fate can go fuck itself. She moves closer so that they don’t have to strain for each other, confined to their own one-by-one square of space.

Peter’s eyes drop down to her lips for a split-second before he rests his forehead against hers. His voice is hoarse as he says, “Tell me not to, Michelle.”

“No,” she utters, swallowing the breath she’d held in her throat, and that’s all it takes for him to surge forward the extra half-inch, pressing his lips against hers. And then, well, it’s not so much a spark.

It’s the way the entirety of New York—the entirety of the world—freezes around them. Her heart sinks with the feeling, but she has half a mind to hope that this could still mean something else. This was supposed to be all their decision.

Keeping her eyes closed, Michelle kisses him like it matters, despite every sign at this point telling her it doesn’t. It was never up to them.

Peter is the first to pull away, to open his eyes, and she can see the blatant disappointment in his expression when he meets her own. He wets his swollen lips, saying, “You felt it too, huh?”

“I did. So much for that wish,” Michelle utters, picking at a loose thread in her pants as she wonders if this was just another thing the universe has wanted to ruin for her. “Does this mean…”

“You know what it means.” His tone is matter-of-fact, frustrated, upset.

It’s all explanatory in a way that Michelle hates—and has hated since she’d first learned the norms of what it all meant—but she can’t try to disprove the textbook definition of what a soulmate is.

Soulmates have been around long enough now to be set in stone, a philosophy just as accepted as the fact that the earth is round. It was the universe’s way of forcing you in the supposed right direction.

Michelle has always been told that time stops when you kiss your soulmate, a concept that she’s never grasped because it’s never happened to her. Not until now, until Peter, and if turning eighteen means getting a soulmate, she wishes they had never grown up.

“What are we supposed to do?” Her half-smile feels like a full lie. “I don’t think either of us expected to be...expected this.”

“If I had known, I would never have kissed you,” Peter whispers, and she can tell they’re both hurt by the admission. He swallows thickly, blinking rapidly. “But what were the fucking chances, Em?”

Michelle isn’t sure what to say, knowing this wasn’t the way things were meant to be. They were supposed to have soulmates that weren’t each other. Have the chance to blow off the whims of fate and get together on their own accord because that would be their choice alone.

“I don’t know, Peter, I don’t know how soulmates are assigned,” Michelle admits, never having cared enough to find out. “Let’s just forget it. We’re friends, and that was our decision, right? That’s real.”

“Is it? What if this was all planned out already? What if the whole soulmate bond is the reason we’re friends? The—the reason I’ve liked you for so long?”

“Peter,” Michelle exhales, feeling the harsh sting of the implications. She has no answer to his questions, no reasoning that could dry the wetness in his eyes.

“What if everything between us isn’t even...real?” Peter asks, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, and she heaves out a shuddering breath. This is the note their night is ending on.

Michelle remains silent, the only sound between them being the honking of vehicles from the street below. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his chest rising and falling, the way his gaze is saddened under the moonlight.

There isn’t anything left for her to do, she thinks, knowing that while they’re sitting side-by-side, almost touching, it’s as if there’s a newly formed chasm between them. He feels so far away.

And just like that, the universe has let them down once again.  
  


* * *

  
**two years.**

_Good, old New York._

Michelle tightens her coat around her shoulders, trying to shake the feeling of disappointment attached to coming home and how it doesn’t truly feel like coming home, anymore. She walks down the streets of the lit-up city, snowflakes settling between the folds of her scarf and her winter coat.

The chill gives her a nice whiplash, though not in the same way that returning to her father’s apartment had. She’d expected to see him there, only for it to be completely empty with a half-assed apology note taped to the stainless steel fridge. Last minute, as always.

“I didn’t expect this year to be any different, Betty. It’s fine,” Michelle says, holding her phone between her ear and shoulder while opening up the door of a well-lit coffee shop that illuminates the night.

“I mean, what’s new? Impromptu business trips have always been his thing,” Betty replies, and silence falls between them, Michelle finding a table in the corner of the cafe. “Sorry. I know you were hoping this year would be different.”

“I came home for the holidays to spend time with him, and he always does this. He always blows me off, even if he doesn’t mean to.” Michelle shakes her head, resting it in her hand. A waiter comes over, and she orders a black coffee to go. 

“The place is empty?”

“He even took the dog with him.” Her laugh comes out bitingly soft. “So, yeah. Quite empty. And tell me what the point of...coming home to no one is?”

Betty hesitates on her end, and Michelle can already guess what she’s about to say next. “Well, I don’t want you to be alone during the holidays. Don’t you have a plan B? I mean, I’d offer you to stay with me, but Ned and his family are visiting. It’s already a pretty full house—”

“So, what you’re saying is you don’t want me there.”

“MJ! No, that’s not it at _all_ —”

Michelle snorts, turning her palm against her cheek as she closes her eyes, saying, “I’m just messing with you, Betty. It’s okay.”

“This absolutely...sucks, MJ. I am so sorry,” her friend says, and her tone is colored in sympathy mixed with pity. It’s not a nice sound, but it makes the most sense right now. “Hey, you know what, maybe we can make an exception. Why don’t you come over...I know it’s late—”

“No. I’m not going to intrude in on your family gatherings.” And it’s not just that, Michelle knowing the last thing she feels like doing is being the third wheel to Ned and Betty. She loves them but not enough to subject herself to that.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. But, thanks.” Michelle quirks her lips as she receives her coffee and sits back in her chair. “I’ll call you tomorrow if I remember. But I’m going to hang up now before you somehow get me to change my mind.”

“You know I love you.” Betty hesitates, like she’s reluctant to let the call end, but she eventually bids goodbye, and they hang up.

Michelle sips her coffee slowly and stares out the window, watching as the lights twinkle against the dark sky. It’s almost soothing, the way they reflect off the snowflakes falling, and she thinks if she were to watch the scene long enough, she’d drift off to sleep.

But then just as her eyelids start drooping, something in the distance catches her attention, and makes Michelle sit up on high alert. The way the flash of red and black past the cafe window immediately has her memories whirring.

She hides behind her styrofoam cup as the cafe bell chimes, Spider-Man himself walking through the door as if it were a casual thing. He orders something from the barista at the counter and it’s truly unfair how quickly he receives his drink.

It’s only when he turns around that Michelle comes to the conclusion that she doesn’t want to be spotted just yet, but her instincts are far too slow. Even when she whips her head to the side, he obviously sees her, judging by the way he freezes.

Her heart is pounding in her ears, Michelle unable to look at him or even in his general direction, and she lets out a breath of relief when he passes by to walk out the door. She doesn’t think she could handle this right now.

The relief lasts for about two or three minutes before the door opens again, bell slamming, and he marches right over to her table with some sort of misplaced determination, like he just changed his mind.

“Hey, M-Miss? Do you think you’re gonna need a, uh...an escort to get you home tonight?” Spider-Man asks, trying to be casual and failing spectacularly. He rubs the back of his neck, as if he didn’t just cause a scene.

“That’s so funny,” Michelle deadpans, looking down at her cup and finding it’s easier than looking at him. “You don’t think I can get home on my own, Spider-Man?”

“You—you know I don’t—I mean, I do think you can, but I don’t think _that_ —”

“Try not to have an aneurysm right here and now,” she interrupts with a slight smile, something easing inside her just by knowing how easy it is to mess with him. He seems to relax, posture becoming less defensive. “I’m kidding.”

“Yeah.” He laughs, a quieter, hesitant thing. “Yeah, of course you were. I, uh, was just wondering if we could talk somewhere?”

Michelle can already feel the ache of the memories he’s bringing up by suggesting such a thing, but she nods anyway, closing her eyes as she brings her cup back up to her lips.

“I guess. You can wait until I finish my drink, right?”

His eyes narrow, probably wondering if she’s testing him, but he takes the empty seat across from her anyway as if this were just some casual outing. She finds it’s more awkward this way, but it’s not like she can tell him to go away.

Well, she could if she really wanted to.

“Um...how—how long…”

“You have somewhere to be?” Michelle takes deliberately slow sips, calculating the way his foot taps, the way his arms cross. His impatient tells have always been obvious, never a subtle guy when it comes to emotions. 

“God, have you always been this…”

Michelle’s head whips up at that, and her fingers flex inadvertently around her cup before she tosses it. “This, what? Did you forget that you came to me?”

Standing up, she doesn’t even give him the chance to respond, tightening her jacket around herself while walking to the exit. She can hear his chair scrape but frankly doesn’t care if he’s following her or not.

Except, the moment Michelle steps outside the cafe, she’s immediately swept off her feet, suddenly flying through the air with an unprecedented speed. Her scream is drowned out by the wind, and she can’t do anything but bury her face in his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

The second they touch down on solid ground, some apartment rooftop not too far away, Michelle releases a string of curse words and pulls away immediately. She hates that he didn’t give her a choice, hates that it feels like she never gets a choice anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, ripping his mask off, and it’s so much harder now that she can see his face clearly. “I...I know you hate that.”

“Yeah, I do.” Michelle bites back the words she’s itching to say. “No hi, no hello, just typical Parker—”

“Typical Parker behavior,” Peter finishes, quieter as he steps a bit closer. He looks older now, perhaps a little more filled out, and yet, it feels as if no time has passed. She wishes that were the case. “Hi. Hello. It’s been a while. You didn’t tell me you were back in the city.”

“I know.” She softens slightly, as she always does around him, old habits returning as quickly as they had disappeared. “I just came back for holiday break to...well. To see my father, who wasn’t there. You know how it is.”

Peter swallows, looking down. And because he is the person that he is, of course he knows everything about her. Almost. “I’m sorry that he’s terrible.”

“Me, too.” Michelle chews her lower lip before meeting his eyes. They’re the same as they were two years ago under the moonlight. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright.” He hesitates, wringing his mask in his hands, an anxious tick. “Kind of missed you. Believe it or not.”

Michelle rolls her eyes, giving him a slight smile before looking down at the pavement beneath her feet, recalling the past two years and the dull ache that came with them.

It’s almost funny, the way she so clearly remembers the night that had been the domino that started their gradual falling apart.

When she and Peter had first told Betty and Ned what happened, they were bombarded with accusations of overthinking. That this wasn’t as big a deal as they were making it out to be, that they should just go with the flow and accept what fate was saying.

But Michelle knew how she’d felt about soulmates long before finding her own, and the fact that they both shared the same views on the topic almost softened the blow of it being her best friend all along.

They really tried to keep a string of normalcy going, but it was obvious that neither of them were very good at that. It was getting harder and harder to even keep a conversation without wondering why or how, second guessing each interaction. 

Michelle just didn’t know what the driving force was behind them anymore.

Their friendship had started to rail off more into the direction of a business transaction, and she couldn’t stand the feeling. Which is why they agreed to put anything and everything between them on hold.

They had graduated and were heading to different colleges, anyway. He had decided to stay in New York while she went to Boston, and that made it so much easier for their communication to fall the rest of the way through the cracks.

It makes Michelle’s head hurt if she thinks about the concept too long, knowing that soulmate bonds were meant to bring people together. And, yet, it had cost her one of her closest friends.

But now, Peter is here again, right in front of her, and despite both of them having agreed to let pieces of each other go, she realizes now that she’s missed him too—realizes it now only because he’s two feet away, and it’s easier to remember what they lost when they’re not miles apart.

They say time heals all wounds. Maybe that’s the case here, and maybe they would be able to return to some semblance of what they were before, but the weight of being soulmates is still hanging over their heads. 

“I kind of missed you, too. Probably.” Michelle sees the way he smiles, and it’s too familiar. She doesn’t know what brought them back together again, the work of fate once more or something else. 

“Do you, uh, want to come inside for a little? My apartment is in this building. I share one with a few friends from college, but they’re visiting family out of state right now,” he says, rambling just a bit. “It’s just me.”

“I probably shouldn’t,” she responds, hesitant, gaging the way he shifts from one foot to the other. Nervous. “Ten minutes?”

Peter seems surprised that she relented, and he doesn’t look away from her steady, almost challenging gaze while saying, “No more, no less.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Michelle pauses though when she realizes he’s not headed toward the rooftop door but the edge of the roof, pulling his mask back on. “Woah, hold up. Tell me we’re not…”

“Well, I can’t just walk through the hallway of my building like this. The fire escape is right below. We just have to jump.”

Michelle can feel her heart skip a beat as she mutters, “I hate you.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he responds softly, and she knows that, her fear of heights telling her she should just take the stairs like a normal person. But she’s feeling spontaneous.

Pushing her hair away with a hand, Michelle shakes the nerves out of herself before jumping onto his back, arms securing around his neck, legs around his waist. She presses her face into his suit. “Ready.”

“Don’t let go.”

“Fuck off.” She can feel the moment when Peter takes the step off the roof, and her stomach drops as they do. It’s like free falling but with no one at the bottom to catch her. A terrifying thing it would be if he weren’t beneath her grasp, the only solid for her to hold onto.

After a few more seconds, Michelle hears Peter’s feet touch down on the fire escape, but she doesn’t trust herself to stand just yet. Not until he opens the window that leads into the apartment and clambers inside with a surprising amount of grace.

“MJ,” Peter murmurs, his hand lightly touching hers, the one that’s dangling right above his heart. “You can let go.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Michelle pulls away from him, snowflakes melting from her hair as she scrutinizes the place. It’s well-lit and decorated for the holidays. “Nice apartment you got here. Nice...tree.”

“It doesn’t quite fit,” he remarks with a quiet laugh after removing his mask, nodding at the pine that’s being crushed by the ceiling. “If you can’t tell, I was the one left to decorate all on my own.”

Michelle folds her lips, hands in her pockets as she walks around. “It looks like one of those overtly commercialized mall outlets. Exactly your style, Parker.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Not at all,” she laughs, ducking her head and falling back onto his beat couch. “But it’s a nice place. Cozy. How many people live here with you?”

“Just two. Gwen and Harry,” Peter says with a small smile, taking a seat next to her with a single cushion marking the space between them. “We all met during freshman orientation. They’re, uh...they’re nice.”

Michelle raises an eyebrow, slipping out of her heavy jacket as she starts to warm up. “You hesitated.”

“I…” He laughs, a sour sounding thing, and she frowns. “I mean, yeah. They’re nice, no doubt. But, god, this apartment is built for three people and there are, like, four or five here at all times? It gets annoying sometimes.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. They’re just...always bringing people home, trying to find their...well.” Peter leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs, not looking at her as he continues. “You know. Their soulmates.”

“Their soulmates,” Michelle echoes, aware that her voice suddenly sounds hollow. It knocks her back into reality, reminds her why it was so difficult for them in these past few years despite it being so easy to forget with just a few words and lingering stares. “Well. That must be fun for you.”

“Yeah. Especially when they try to drag me out with them,” he utters, shaking his head as the muscles in his jaw clench.

“You haven’t told them you’ve already…?” She trails off, unsure if the emotion churning in her gut is some twisted version of relief or something else. But that really wouldn’t make any sense at all.

“No. I haven’t. It’s just been hard for me to think about, Em,” Peter says, swallowing, twisting his head to look at her. “You’ve been hard to think about, and I know—I know it was a mutual agreement. But I still…”

“Yeah. No, I...I get it.” Michelle can feel her chest heaving as she kicks her boots off, pulling her legs up to make herself comfortable in his home despite something still feeling out of place. She doesn’t want to talk or think about this right now. “I feel like we could just...pretend we’re not soulmates.”

Peter laughs, a sardonic thing that trails off into something broken. It reminds her of that night on the rooftop, his eighteenth birthday memorable in all the wrong ways. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for two years?”

“It’s different now that I’m here. In front of you.” Michelle knows she won’t be able to stop second-guessing every little thing if they keep on like this, now that they’re no longer separated so far apart. “I’m sorry. We could’ve handled this better.”

“I doubt it.” He can’t quite meet her in the eyes, and she wishes that this weren’t so hard for them. Maybe if their brains had been wired differently, if they grew up accepting the idea of soulmates. But they didn’t.

“You’re probably right,” she whispers, closing her eyes. They are the way that they are, and they connected so nicely because of it. “Is my ten minutes up?”

Peter barely nods, his posture a tense thing. “It’s been fifteen.”

“I better go, then,” Michelle says slowly, uncurling from her position on the couch. To go from a wonderfully warm home back to her father’s cold and empty apartment, the idea must go through both of their minds.

“Or you could just stay,” he offers, his smile wry with room for hope if he would allow it. “Instead of going home. We’ve got empty rooms right now.”

“I’m here for two weeks, Peter.” She swallows, mirroring his expression. “I shouldn’t.”

“Two weeks isn’t very long, Em. Two weeks where we could just...pretend?” His voice trails off, cracks a bit as he echoes her earlier proposition. “You know we’re good at that.”

“We are good at that,” Michelle responds, sighing slowly, softly, and then finds herself conceding before really even considering what this could entail. It’s just difficult to think about, especially when all she knows is that she just wants to be here. “Two weeks where we’re not soulmates. No more, no less.”

“No talking about it. No thinking about it. No…” Peter trails off, eyes falling briefly to her lips before exhaling a small laugh. His barely-there smirk hits her. “Do you think you can handle that?”

“God, you are so annoying. And...I hate you,” she breathes with a shake of her head, and he smiles. 

“No, you don’t.” His hand extends out to her, and Michelle takes it. She holds on this time, the distance between them suddenly nonexistent as he brings her into his side, sharing one section of the three-person couch. His arm around her has never felt so light and heavy at the same time.

Glancing up at his face, Michelle sees the way he closes his eyes now, cheek resting against her head. If he’s letting himself feel content, she’ll do the same. 

This is what they’re good at. Pretending.


	2. Chapter 2

“How can I put this gently? Sometimes, you just...you get in the way.”

“Pretty sure you just skipped ‘gently’ and straight-up told me to get out of the kitchen,” Michelle says, and she manages a small smile. She’s not mad about it, knowing he’s been like this all his life, that it runs through the Parker genes. Cooking is his love language, even if he won’t admit it. 

“I did, and I’m sorry. But I’m making dinner.” Peter presses a light hand to her back, between her shoulder blades, and even if it’s just to usher her out from behind the island, his touch is soft, featherlight. “It’s for us. For you, specifically, but I know you’ll be kind and share.”

Michelle gives a noncommittal hum in response, a roll of her eyes which is less noncommittal. She makes her way over to the tree and hopes to finish decorating, as she had promised earlier in the day. With him cooking dinner, it gives her time alone.

A surprising rarity over the last couple days.

It’s not that they’ve been taking advantage of their selective amnesia of a certain universal topic. Well, they have, but not to the extent that Michelle had initially assumed when they can’t just jump into their friendship the way they’d left it. It’s a process, she’s realized, of relearning each other.

She finds herself adapting the version of Peter Parker when they knew each other, the version that had been in her head for years, to this one. They’re not so different, but she’s always been slow to adjust no matter how small the change.

They’re getting there, though.

“I certainly think that your tree looks less...terrible than it did before I arrived,” Michelle comments offhandedly when she can sense his presence behind her. He laughs, a quiet thing.

“Ouch?”

“Please, I’m being kind. It doesn’t even fit under your ceiling, so I don’t have a lot to go off of compliment-wise.” She turns around, finds him standing there with a bowl for her of some homemade pad thai. Her favorite. “Oh. Is that—”

“For you? Not anymore,” Peter responds with a snort, spinning on his heel, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth. As hungry as she is, Michelle merely grumbles, turning around as well, and goes back to fixing the tree. “MJ?”

“What?” she asks, trying not to sound grumpy even if she is just a little, but this is the same way he always used to get on her nerves when they were kids, and some things never change. 

“You want to see something pretty?” Peter is suddenly behind her again, dinner abandoned much to her dismay, and they’re both looking at the tree. She almost hopes to hear him say something else, catch her off guard somehow, and he does. But it’s in a rather anticlimactic way, him pulling up a sleeve and spraying strands of web on the tree.

“What…?” She trails off, unimpressed, and he laughs, his breath feathering against the back of her neck. “Don’t tell me you think that looks good.”

“Better than garland. Look at how it sparkles. White, sticky, and all natural.” Peter pauses, and she knows that if she could see his face right now, he’d be blushing and she’d be trying to stifle a smile. “Wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, actually—”

“Do not open that can of worms, my friend.” Michelle shoves him away with a light roll of her eyes. “No sane person uses synthetic spiderwebs on their Christmas tree.”

“Why, do you think it’s weird?”

“I think it’ll be mighty obvious to anyone who walks in that these aren’t just fake spiderwebs.” Michelle removes one of his web-shooters to look closer at it, recognizing the same ones he’d made with her in junior year—back when they snuck into the lab at Stark’s place. She wouldn’t call it breaking and entering, just taking advantage of the opportunities in front of them.

“Well, it’s not like I have guests!”

“What about Gwen and Harry? Do they know?” She doesn’t think they do, or else he’d be a lot less secretive with the fact that his suit is stuffed underneath his bed, alongside a broken reindeer head that she won’t ask about.

“I’ll get the tree down by the time they come back,” Peter assures her, and she realizes he’s really being serious about these decorations. It’s a pity.

“Okay, Spider-Man. It’s your tree,” Michelle concedes, though she still can’t understand how in the world it looks decent enough to decorate with. She gestures to the web-shooter in her hand. “I remember these ones. We made them together. You used them while we were in school.”

“Yeah. I have newer ones and improved them with nanotech since then, but I've kept this. just kept these as backups. I don’t think I could get rid of them,” he says quietly, and she nods, because yeah. Sentimental value is their connector. “The other ones are with my suit but I figured that—”

Without thinking, Michelle presses down on the button, shooting a web and nearly hits him with it, just missing to land it on his fridge. She snorts, amused at the way Peter’s expression contorts into a grimace so quickly.

If teasing her is how he would always get on her nerves, this was how she got on his. It brings Michelle back to the days when she’d mess with him on a daily basis, and he’d tolerate it but barely—only because they were friends.

“Oh. Sorry. Did not mean to do that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Peter huffs with a slight smirk, and she knows he’s going to shoot back at her even before he lifts his other wrist. He clicks the button, a web flying past her head, dangerously close. “Oops.”

“Now, what would you have done if you’d gotten me in the face?” Michelle jokes with a quiet laugh before shooting another. It nearly slams him in the chest, but he’s agile with a sixth sense and can dodge it easily. An unfair advantage. 

“I wouldn’t have gotten you in the face because I actually have good aim,” he fires back before taking another shot, landing it on her shoe, and now she’s stuck in one place. His smile is too cocky and gleeful for his own good, which annoys Michelle enough to have her shoot another web in his direction, glueing his hand to the couch.

“I think you just get lucky,” she drawls, and they both fall silent, taking into account their positions. It’s almost funny how they’re too competitive for their own good sometimes.

“Well. Guess we’re in a pretty...sticky situation here,” he jokes, and she narrows her eyes, unimpressed. “The, uh, the solution will dissolve with this solvent I have in my...room.”

“Oh, perfect,” she says, monotonous, before ducking down to remove her shoe, stepping away from the couch and him. “Well. Good luck with that.”

“MJ?” Peter’s tone is dangerously close to a whine, but she opts to ignore him, waltzing over to the kitchen and picking up the bowl he’d set down. It’s still warm. “Wow, taking advantage of my generosity. How dare you.”

“It's your own fault.” She waves her spoon at him before taking a bite, the pad thai hitting her tongue with a burst of flavor. “Mmm. Always love your cooking.”

“You know, you’re being unreasonably cruel right now.” His eyes flit across her face, lingering, before darting down and looking away. He wets his lips and swallows thickly. “I made you dinner, and you’re eating it in front of me while I’m stuck? Thought we were friends.”

“Are you trying to guilt-trip me?”

“Is it working?”

“Not particularly.” Michelle turns back to the counter, away from him, and starts scrolling on her phone, seeing and responding to a text from Betty. She tells her that she’s fine, everything’s good, but doesn’t go into detail about where she’s staying, knowing that her friend will freak out and claim the universe had something to do with it all.

“Michelle, I think you forget sometimes that I can stop a bus with my bare hands,” Peter eventually says, and she wants to roll her eyes, tell him it’s impossible to forget such a thing if he brags on like that. Her worry is enough of a reminder, always a constant thing. “I’ll break my couch if that’s what it takes to free myself and stop you from eating my dinner.”

“ _My_ dinner. You made me this,” she retorts with an amused snort, but then he starts lifting the end of the couch he’s stuck to with one hand. “Okay, hold your horses, Parker. You’re a broke college student living with two other broke college students who cannot afford a new couch.”

“Exactly.”

“Guilt-tripping at its finest.” She grumbles to herself and goes into his bedroom, finding the solvent buried underneath a mess of papers in the top drawer of his nightstand. Her foot nearly gets caught in a wreath, and she stumbles back into the living room with a grimace.

“Oh, hey. Look at that,” he chirps, an all too saccharine smile plastered across his face. She narrows her eyes at him. “You got it?”

“You are so annoying.”

“Right back at ya. But, hey, I’m glad some things never change.” Peter huffs out a breath, snatching the vile from her but struggles to open it with one hand. He reluctantly gives it back and she pops it open, already starting to douse his wrist, her fingers skimming the sensitive part of his skin. 

“You know, you should clean your room every once in a while.”

Peter swallows, throat bobbing. “Why, are you scared you’ll get decapitated by one of the wooden reindeers I’ve got lying around?” 

“No one likes messy rooms, Parker,” Michelle utters, focusing on his hand while also being hyper aware of how close they are. Her head is ducked, and he’s a breath away. “You might find yourself stepping on your mistletoe lying around, and then what good is it going to do for you?”

“Well, there’s a reason I don’t hang it up,” he mumbles, and she looks up to find his eyes focused on her, unreasonably soft, even when they were just having a petty argument moments earlier. But this is how they are, switching on a flip of the dime, and she doesn’t like that.

“Maybe you should.” And it’s not meant to come out the way it sounds, Michelle thinking that maybe it would do them some good to find chemistry in other people, but he’s only looking at her. 

“Michelle.” His voice is tender, the same as it had been the night they were on the rooftop, right before the moment that ruined everything. She doesn’t want a repeat of that, but his hand is free now, fingers reaching up and brushing against her curls, and she doesn’t stop him.

It’s barely been a week since she’s returned to the city, and they made an agreement, set boundaries in order to forget the bond looming over their heads. But they’re not as good at following rules as well as they are at pretending, and she almost thinks breaking one would be worth it.

Almost.

“Peter,” she says abruptly, clearing her throat, and he snaps out of it, already taking two steps back. The moment wasn’t meant to last, both of them regaining a sense of self as they return to reality.

“Sorry. You just...had web in your hair,” Peter says weakly, pulling a string out from behind her twisted braid. Her lips make an ‘oh’ sound, and he gives her a poor smile. “I’m not...I’m not trying to make this harder for us, I just—”

“I actually, uh, didn’t finish the pad thai. I saved the rest for you?” Michelle grabs the bowl, presses it into his hands as he trails off. “I wasn’t going to eat it all anyway, but, um. Thanks. For making it.”

“Of course.” He swallows, looking down. “MJ…”

“Sorry, I, uh…” Her arms fall limply to her sides as his eyes flit across her face, helpless. She wonders if they’re thinking the same thing but doesn’t want to know at the same time. “Sorry about the webs everywhere.”

“Why would you be sorry? It was both of our faults,” he says quietly, indicating to the web-shooters on both of their wrists. 

“You’re right. It is both of our faults.” Michelle hesitates for a moment before slipping hers off and giving it back to him. “Goodnight, Peter.”

She locks herself in Gwen’s room for the rest of the evening.  
  


* * *

  
They only have three rules.

One. Don’t bring up the term of soulmates. 

If they’re going to be pretending, it’s easier when neither of them have to think or hear about the idea that there’s something else driving their actions and desires to be in the other’s life. Avoidance is key when it comes to blissful ignorance.

Two. Don’t talk about _that_ night or the general aftermath of it. 

Returning to the friendship they'd maintained before their eighteenth birthdays is supposed to be the ultimate goal for two weeks, and they’ve been doing an okay job at it so far. She misses her best friend first and foremost, the easiness they had, and she’ll take whatever ounce of normalcy she can get.

Three. No kissing. 

Maybe that should be the most obvious one, but if they want to keep those friendship lines unblurred while also staying away from the idea of soulmates, that evidently means no kissing. No stopping of time. Nothing that couldn’t be brushed off as two people being friendly, borderline flirty, because that’s just how their dynamic normally is.

Michelle knows they’ve been skirting around the topic of what almost happened the other night, the fact that they’d almost broken one of the loosely-set rules they’d settled on so easily. She doesn’t blame herself, or him, but she doesn’t want it to happen again. They were doing so well.

She hasn’t been distancing herself from Peter, knowing that would take away the whole point of her staying, but she’s cautious now. They both are. It doesn’t feel natural—there’s just no other way around it.

“Ned texted,” Peter speaks up in the middle of their holiday movie marathon, Michelle sitting on one end of the couch with him on the other. The space between them makes her feel chilly, but she doesn’t comment on it, waiting for him to continue. “He’s inviting me over to his place for dinner tomorrow.”

“Just you?” Michelle asks and then pauses when her own phone dings with a text from Betty, the same invitation. She knows they aren’t aware of their situation, but the fact that they’re both invited is almost funny and coincidental. Or maybe not coincidental. “Okay. Never mind. Do you think you’re gonna go?”

“I might. What about you?”

“If you go, I guess I will too,” she says, figuring there’s no point in only one of them going and leaving the other home alone. He merely nods before facing the television again, and she settles back into the blanket, stretching her legs out so that her toes barely brush against his thighs.

They remain quiet for the rest of the movie, Michelle only staying awake due to the chill in the apartment and the fact that Peter’s hand has fallen on her ankle, thumb grazing the thin strip of skin between her sock and pant leg.

She knows she should tell him to stop, not even sure if he’s aware of what he’s doing himself, but when she says his name, he looks at her, brows furrowed.

“Are you cold?”

“What, is it obvious?” Michelle asks with a slight laugh, glancing down at the way she’s buried underneath the blanket. “This is what happens when you set the thermostat to sixty degrees in the dead of winter.”

“I get hot easily,” he reminds her.

“I know you do. I’m just saying, I get cold easily,” she counters, and he nods, hesitates for a moment before standing up, going over to the thermostat and turns it up. The heat kicks on a second later. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You basically asked,” Peter replies, and she rolls her eyes. He cracks a small smile, shakes his head, and as he sits down again, he lifts her feet before placing them on his lap, hands resting on top. “I know I didn’t have to.”

Michelle simply smiles in response before letting her eyes flutter shut, even though the movie isn’t over. His thumb is still tracing circles against the sensitive part of her skin, and if they happen to fall asleep like that, they don’t mention it in the morning. 

She thinks about the little moments often, the ones that could pass as friendship if it were with anyone else but somehow still mean more to her when they’re coming from him. She doesn’t know what to do with that.  
  


* * *

  
“You’re here together—”

“Hi,” Michelle greets with a small smile, taking a step back when Betty opens the door to their home. She takes into account the perplexed look on her friend’s face, eyes flitting between the two of them. “We, uh, bumped into each other? On the way to your front door.”

Her and Peter had established that it would only complicate things, letting Betty and Ned in on the fact that they were staying together. It would lead to confusion and questions, none of which either of them would be prepared to answer, so they agreed to be casual and not bring it up.

“Well. It’ll be great for all of us to catch up, then,” Betty eventually settles on, but Michelle doesn’t miss the pointed look that’s thrown her way. She opts to ignore it and focuses on her husband approaching from behind.

“Hey, guys, good to see you both,” Ned speaks up, immediately engaging in the weird handshake with Peter that they’d had since high school. They both look incredibly pleased with themselves. “Isn’t this a nice reunion?”

“So nice,” Peter manages, offering a small smile, but Michelle catches his quick glance, his wary eyes, before he follows Ned inside. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that Peter would be here, but it’s a fun surprise, isn’t it? It could be just like old times,” Betty says, linking her arm through Michelle’s, the door closing behind them. “Have you guys...talked at all?”

“Um. Yeah, no, we, uh. We just saw each other outside? Like we got here at the same time. But, uh, no, Peter—he looks...he looks good.” She closes her eyes, bringing a hand to her temple, embarrassed.

Betty merely laughs, shakes her head, and there’s something knowing in her gaze. “I’m glad you think so. I thought these past few years would’ve been pretty hard on both of you, all things considered, but you guys look great. I just wish I could see your face more often, MJ.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just been busy with school, and...” And what? She doesn’t really have too many excuses for not coming back to the city other than the simple fact that she didn’t want to. Plenty of reasons for that.

“I get that. How have the holidays been holding up for you? I know that since your dad bailed…” Betty swallows, brows pinching, and she squeezes her hand apologetically. “Excuse my lack of decorum. I just want to make sure you’re not spending them alone.”

“Oh, was this a pity invite then?” Michelle jokes dryly.

Her eyes widen to the size of saucers—it’s too easy to mess with her. “No, of course not! God, no, we just want to spend some time with you.”

“What a relief to hear,” she drawls, and Betty rolls her eyes, lightly shoves her shoulder. They head into the kitchen, a pot roast already in the crock pot that smells really nice. “So you and Ned have been doing well? I mean, it looks like you’re absolutely glowing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re doing really good,” Betty says, sighing dreamily, and it brings Michelle back to the day her friend called her up, said that she and Ned were planning on getting married right out of high school. At first, it had sounded absurd, and she tried to talk her out of the idea.

But Betty was dead set at the time, a spark in her eyes that hadn’t been there previously, and she said that she’s happy with him. Whether it was due to the universe or not, she’d rather thank it than fight the idea because it brought her the love of her life, or whatever. Her words.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Michelle says, and she means it. 

“MJ,” Betty continues tentatively, and there it is. The soft, sympathetic tone she should’ve known was coming—the one that tells her she feels bad. “I know it’s just one night, and I know you and Peter kind of fell out of touch, but don’t you think...maybe this is a sign? Everything happens for a reason, and you both—”

“Please don’t bring this up. I’m asking you. Just…” She swallows, simply not wanting to talk about it. Not tonight, or ever, if she can help it. “Let’s not make tonight about that, okay?

“Okay. Okay.” Betty raises her hands in surrender, lips pinched. Her voice goes soft in a pitiful way. “But, really, you guys should talk. Catch up. I’m sure you’ve missed each other.”

“I guess,” Michelle relents, rocking on her heels for a moment before shuffling robotically towards the living room where Ned and Peter are sitting. They both look up, and she catches their smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey, MJ,” Ned chirps.

“Hi,” Peter says softly, and when she looks at him, he gives her this small smile, like it’s meant to be a secret. Her face feels warm in the heat of the house. “Do you want to sit down?”

Michelle doesn’t say anything, taking the spot to his left and leaving a respectable amount of space between them. She listens to them continue their conversation about work and the fact that Ned gets to build robots for a living. Her mind zones in and out as she tries to focus, but she feels stiff.

“What about you, MJ? How have you been?” Ned asks her kindly, and she smiles at him but doesn’t really know what to say. 

“I’ve been…fine.”

“Is this the first time you’ve been back in the city for a while?”

“Yeah.” She brings one leg under her, hesitating. “I mean, I came back to spend the holidays with my father. Betty probably already told you. But, uh, that’s really the only reason right now.”

“Aw, you should’ve visited sooner! Like on a weekend or something,” Ned continues, and she huffs out a barely audible laugh, looking down.

“I guess I kind of just lost the motivation to come home.”

Ned rubs his hands together, turns the television on so that they’re staring at a pixelated fireplace. “Well, get that motivation back so we can see you more often. I’m sure we’d all like that. Right, Peter?”

“Right,” Peter says, quiet, and she meets his eyes, aware that this isn’t something they’ve talked about or even considered—whatever happens after these two weeks end. She doesn’t want to think about that right now, sinking further back into the couch.

“You guys can get your dinner whenever,” Betty announces, coming into the living room with a plateful of food. She shoots Michelle a subtle wink before settling next to Ned, curling up.

“Do you want to…” Peter looks at her, and she immediately nods, standing up first. They head into the kitchen where they’re out of earshot, and he lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You know, they’re treating us like glass.”

“They’re skirting around the elephant in the room because we’ve basically asked them to,” Michelle says with a half-shrug, piling food onto her plate, Peter accepting her carrots because she doesn’t like them. “As if they didn’t have ulterior motives, inviting both of us here.”

“Aw, MJ. They just want us to be friends again,” he teases lightly, and she rolls her eyes, placing a hand on his chest with the intention of nudging him back. But he covers her palm with his, grinning.

“Mission accomplished.”

Peter’s grin softens into a smile, and as she turns back to getting a roll, she can see him staring at her through her peripheral vision. She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling them burn slightly, before heading back into the living room.

Ned thankfully switches the cheesy fake fireplace to a holiday music station, and they all eat in a companionable silence, occasionally bringing up stories or something about the past.

Their home is far from frigid, a vast difference from the apartment, but Michelle finds herself tucking her toes underneath the blanket draped over Peter’s legs. His hand occasionally finds the arch of her foot through the thick wool, squeezing, and she almost kicks his food on the floor, biting back a smile and restrained laugh. She likes the way it is, the way they are. 

It reminds her of when they were seventeen, in her bedroom or his, before the mess of it all when they spent too much time together—back when they could claim it was because they simply wanted to.

She misses that.

“Hey, so has Peter told you about his roommates?” Betty asks when they’ve all fallen silent for too long to be comfortable, and it takes Michelle a minute to realize she’s talking to her. 

“Vaguely,” she says, aimlessly twirling her fork. “I know their names.”

“Gwen and Harry, yeah.” Peter looks at her, chews the inside of his cheek for a second. She waits for him to continue, and he does. “It’s too bad you won’t get to meet them. I think they’d really like you.”

“Well. Maybe one day.” But doubtful.

“You guys should make arrangements,” Ned says enthusiastically before looking at his wife, taking her empty plate from her. She snorts, gives him a hearty slap on the back as they head into the kitchen together to do some dishes.

“Do you have any plans to come back sometime soon?” Peter eventually asks, and she realizes they’re opening this can of worms right now. But maybe she’s making it a bigger deal in her head, and he’ll see it as nothing. “Like Ned suggested, like on the weekend or something. It wouldn’t have to be long or anything, they’re usually here all the time.”

“I don’t have any plans to visit in the near future, no.” That's really all there is to it, Michelle knowing the only reason she came back this time was to spend Christmas with her father. She hadn’t wanted to think about anyone else—the idea of coming and leaving quickly seemed like the best option.

It might’ve been a pure coincidence that she had run into Peter at the cafe, and she’s not upset that she did. But she wasn’t prepared for the emotion to hit her like it did either, and maybe that’s why she never told him she was back.

But at the same time, maybe that’s what made it easier to come into his home, to agree to the deal they made, and the reason why she’s been staying with him for as long as she has. It could be due to missing him, nostalgia, regret, or simply something else.

“Not even just...one day?” Peter tries, as if one day won’t turn into a week, and a week into a month. “MJ.”

“Peter,” she counters, getting a small frown out of him. She considers backtracking, but then she’d be lying—as if they haven’t done enough of that recently. “I just really...don’t think it would be a good idea. I think this two weeks is going to be it...for a while.”

“This is going to be it,” he repeats with a humorless chuckle, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. “So, what, we’re just going to go back to ignoring each other? You’re not going to visit, and I know we won’t end up texting if there’s not some gun pointed at our heads—”

“I mean, come on. Did you think everything would just go back to normal? Just because we’re spending time together? It’s not like we can be blissfully ignorant forever,” Michelle says with a weak laugh, looking down. She wishes that were the case, and if the miserable look on his face is any indication, he does too. “No, we said we could make this work for two weeks, Peter.”

“Two weeks and then what? Tell me what the point is of whatever...we’re doing, just to end it the exact same way we did two years ago,” he says, swallowing, his voice tightening like a cord about to snap, and she blinks, taken aback at the tension in his voice.

“Why did you suggest it in the first place then?” she asks, inhaling sharply. She’s frustrated, knowing that whatever plan they had laid out was clear and that it was mostly his idea. “You knew I would be leaving again.”

“Because—I don’t know. Maybe for the same reason I let you in my apartment, or why I came back into the cafe in the first place.” He shakes his head, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “But at least we know none of it was my own doing, right? Since we’re soulmates and all.”

Michelle blinks, her face hot, and she nods, rubs her lips together. At least they have an excuse for trying something so idiotic, that’s what he’s saying. “Yeah. That’s always been the problem, hasn’t it.”

Peter doesn’t look at her again, not when Betty and Ned make their way back into the living room. When an alert on his phone goes off, she can see the relief in his eyes, like the universe has done him a favor for once, and he’s already standing up, grabbing his things.

“Sorry to cut this short. There’s an armed robbery a few blocks from here that I should probably...” He jabs his thumb towards the door, only looking at Ned when he says this, and she shifts uncomfortably. “Thanks. For the invite. I’ll, uh, see you guys around.”

His eyes flit to hers but only for a split second, and then he leaves, his plate and wool blanket left behind where he was once sitting.

“Well. That was kind of rude. He didn’t even say goodbye to you,” Betty huffs, and she feels worse now that it’s been said out loud. “Did you guys make plans to hang out again?”

“No. We didn’t,” Michelle says shortly, pushing a hand through her hair as she makes a move to stand up. She takes her plate, Peter’s plate, brings them into the kitchen and rinses them off. When she returns to the living room, she grabs her coat that was draped over the couch. “I should probably head home before it gets too late.”

“Are you sure?” Ned asks, and when she nods, he and Betty stand up to give her goodbye hugs. They don’t look happy with the way the night ended so quickly. “Do you want a lift home?”

“Neither of you own a car.” She shakes her head. “I’ll manage.”

“I hope you’ll come back and visit soon,” Betty says with a tentative smile. “There’s more than one person who misses you around here, MJ.”

Michelle blinks, and her eyes burn. She forces her way around a weak smile, nodding, and instead says, “I’ll call you more.”  
  


* * *

  
Michelle finds herself sitting on Gwen’s bed, curtains open and door shut. She stares at the digital clock on the nightstand with its red numbers mocking her, ticking up slowly. It’s been a few hours.

She considered not coming back to the apartment, figuring whatever illusion they’d created together to keep their friendship intact had shattered and the easiness with it. Her father’s empty home almost sounded more appealing, even if it would’ve meant her last few days in the city would be spent alone.

But she knows she at least owes it to herself to come back, at least for a little while, just to make sure he makes it home okay—if only to give her a peace of mind. And if nothing else, if they can’t talk things out, she’ll be gone by morning.

Another half hour passes, and Michelle keeps flipping between the news channels and the Cartoon Network, grateful for the television in Gwen’s room. 

It doesn’t take long after that to hear a crashing from the living room, Michelle standing up as it sounds like something has fallen over. She starts towards the door but pauses when there’s dead silence. It makes her heart thrum anxiously.

“MJ?”

She blows out a breath of relief and opens the door, finds him sitting in the dark living room, right by the tree. Her eyes adjust quickly, and she takes note of the fact that he’s bleeding on the fake snow laid out underneath.

“Peter, why are you just sitting here?” she grinds out, quickly kneeling next to him, cupping his jaw and moving his face to get a good look for head injuries. There’s a bruise forming on his temple, but nothing more.

“MJ,” he echoes, eyes soft and looking a little dazed. “I didn’t...you’re here.” 

“Of course I am,” Michelle says with a nod, trying to help him stand up, but it’s difficult when he’s putting all of his weight on her like this.

“I thought you would leave,” Peter admits, swallowing thickly, his grip tightening on her. “I thought you left. It looked like there was no one here.”

“I’m here,” she repeats quietly, depositing him on Gwen’s bed when they make it there, which may have been a mistake but it’s too late now. The only plus side is that she has her own bathroom for convenience. “On a scale of one to ten, how much does it hurt right now?”

“A five. I’ve had worse,” he says, closing his eyes. “But it was kind of cool because they had lasers. Really...really bright glowing sword things.”

Michelle almost laughs as she grabs the first aid kit. “What, like lightsabers?”

“Oh, my god. Exactly. Ned is gonna think this is so cool.” Peter looks incredibly satisfied with himself, and she rolls her eyes, starts tugging on his suit. He hits the emblem on his chest, the fabric slipping off his shoulders. The cuts don’t look incredibly deep.

“How much blood do you think you’ve lost?” she asks, already getting to work, and he tells her not enough to fill a stocking, which is fine. It’s not good, just fine. “Okay, well, thank you for that.”

It’s like muscle memory, the stitching, Michelle recounting every time she’s had to do this during high school when he would crawl through her window and collapse on her bed. She knew she was the only person he came to, which makes her wonder who’s been taking care of him when she’s been gone.

She knows it’s not her responsibility, or her job, to look after him like this, but it also feels like this is what she’s been doing all her life. It’s natural at this point.

“MJ,” Peter says, again, wetting his lips. 

“How’s your head?” she asks, thumb sweeping across the bruise on his temple before smoothing his brow. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her.

“It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

“That’s good.” Michelle gives him a slight smile, kneeling next to him on the bed now that she’s finished stitching him up. He kicks the rest of the suit off, leaning his back against the wall. They sit in silence for three minutes, her eyes glazing over as she stares aimlessly at the pixelated colors on TV. “I wasn’t going to leave before you got home safely. I don’t know why you thought I would.”

“I thought…” He trails off, looking down. “I was thinking about earlier. Everything you said, everything I said. It wasn’t a fight—I wasn’t trying to fight with you, and I’m sorry if it came off that way or if I said anything that…”

“I think in that moment, we realized...a lot about what wasn’t working, and we just said it out loud,” she says, and maybe some of it hurt, but she doesn’t tell him that. They’ve dug themselves into this hole on their own. “We can’t pretend we’re not soulmates for the rest of our lives. That’s what I was getting at earlier.”

“I know. And I get it—why you wouldn’t want to come home.” Peter swallows, folding his lips inward. “It’s never going to go away.”

“It would just be hard, I think...to keep being friends with you, or even just pretending with you, when I know there’s some other driving force that’s not just us,” Michelle admits. “And what’s worse is that it does feel real sometimes, but I don’t know if it is, or if it’s just the universe pulling its fucking...red string of fate.”

“Like we’re puppets.” He inhales sharply, and she can see the blue reflection of the television in his eyes. “I guess I just miss you more often than I think about what’s bringing us together...and that’s why I suggested it. But you’re right.”

“Do you think...these two weeks should be it, then?” she asks, looking at the screen as well because she can’t look at him right now. 

“I think that would be the easiest...for us,” Peter says, closing his eyes, voice barely audible. “To move past this. Since everyone only has one soulmate, we wouldn’t have to deal with this again.”

Michelle chuckles humorlessly, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

It’s hard, even just considering the prospect that after she goes home in a few days, she might never see him again, cutting all ties. Other than a few offhand remarks from Ned or Betty, she wouldn’t hear anything else about Peter and he wouldn’t hear anything about her, making it easier for both of them.

“Do you think you’d be able to find someone else after all of this? I mean, considering everyone has a specific person, do you think you’d be able to find...someone else?” Peter asks, strained.

“I don’t know.” She’s not going to search for them, or simply settle for anyone just because she can’t have her best friend. If it never happens, she thinks she’d eventually learn to be okay with that. “What about you?”

“I hope so? I think that would be better than being alone.” He looks down, blinks, and brushes away where the fabric is now wet. “Maybe someone else who thinks soulmates are fucked up. That would work out nicely.”

Michelle’s eyes sting a little when she nods. “Well. I hope you find that someone.”

“Thanks,” Peter tells her, voice going soft and cracking around the edges. “I’m not going to, uh, say it back though because I won’t mean it, and then I’ll be lying even more than I already have recently. So. Don’t want to add onto that.”

“Of course not,” she comments with a halfhearted chuckle, and he laughs a little before meeting her gaze again. She watches his throat bob, eyes big and slightly rheumy. He leans down, presses a kiss to her shoulder, and turns back to the TV with his head resting there.

Michelle threads her fingers through his hair, thinks this is the farthest they’ve ever been from pretending, and it feels like even more of a shame that these past two weeks have consisted of trying for what they used to have when maybe it was meant to be two weeks of closure all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help
> 
> find me on tumblr @coykoii


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes up to the sound of sirens.

They’re loud and pierce through her deep sleep, but when she cracks an eye open, a soft groan escaping, she relaxes upon realizing that it’s only coming from the television that they’d left on all night, the morning news broadcasted across the screen. The sirens mean that the police are already on it, that there’s no need for Spider-Man right now, that he doesn’t have to leave.

Michelle shifts further under the covers, feeling stiff and uncomfortable, probably due to the fact that she and Peter had fallen asleep stuffed on a small twin bed. 

Turning her face halfway into the pillow, she finds herself staring at him, notices how even while he’s sleeping, there’s still that wrinkle between his brow. His left arm is tucked underneath the pillow and his other is haphazardly flung across her lower back. She wants to wake him up just to get out of bed, but it’s chilly and she’s warm where they are.

She almost falls back to sleep, right on the brink of drifting off again, but then she hears him yawn quietly. She opens her eyes again, finds him cracking his own open and blinking sleepily at her. Neither of them react. 

“Morning, MJ,” he finally says, soft and yet his voice is still rough from sleep. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Not really.” Michelle doesn’t mention how hard it was to fall asleep last night until her eyelids were physically too heavy to keep open. She knows it was simply because he was still there, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how hard it’ll be when he won’t be. “What about you?”

“Not really,” Peter echoes with a slight smile, retracting his arm from around her without even mentioning it. “Nice morning, though.”

“Is it? I’m too young for my back to hurt like this.”

He snorts out a laugh, his eyes still on her with an expression that makes Michelle wonder if he’s happy when she’s the first thing he sees in the morning. He blinks and they shine, and he tucks a curl behind her ear. 

But before either of them can do anything else, the sound of a door slamming can be heard in the apartment. They immediately both sit up, Peter’s eyes widening, and then it’s suddenly the bedroom door that’s opening. 

The woman is on her phone, headphones in and music loud enough that Michelle can hear the cymbals crashing from where she is. Her head is bobbing up and down for a moment, but then she looks up and stumbles backwards a little into the luggage she was lugging behind. “Oh—my god?”

“What the—Gwen? What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” she says slowly, tucking her headphones around her neck. “If we want to get into specifics, this is my room...unless you’ve leased the place and kicked me out. Is that what’s happening here?”

“God, no, we’re just...chilling.”

“I can see that. Chilling.” She scans them up and down, her gaze scrutinizing. “Okay. Well. I’d ask what you’re doing in my room, but then we’d have to get into why you’re in my bed and I’m not sure if I want to know the details—”

“No, no, no,” Michelle quickly intervenes with an awkward laugh. “No, this is not what you think. Peter and I were really just...chilling. Casually. As he said.”

Gwen’s eyebrows lift in amusement, her eyes flickering over to scan his body—a body that still lacks proper clothing from the previous night after he’d stripped himself of his suit. It’s fair that she’s skeptical. “I mean, sure. As long as he does my laundry, bedsheets, and all that, I honestly don’t even care.”

“Okay. Cool.” He nods, chewing his lower lip, exchanging a look with Michelle before finally spotting the elephant in the room. His suit is still on the floor, though it’s a little late to try hiding anything at this point. “Oh—um, hey. Heeey. Gwen. Do you think you could just—”

“Do you want me to avert my eyes from the glaringly red and black Spider-Man suit lying in front of my feet, or…” She cocks a brow, and he laughs nervously. “Try me, Pete. What were you going to say?”

“I, uh...I wasn’t...I was just—sometimes, there are these conventions, you see—”

“Oh, you mean those conventions.” Gwen nods, rubbing her lips together before looking at Michelle. “He means the ones that typically occur in Times Square, and it’s like a party because there are people dressed as vultures, scorpions, big rhinos. The usual. Right?”

“How long have you known?” Peter sighs.

“Funny you should ask. Harry and I—”

“ _Harry_ knows too?”

“Of course he does.” She gives him a look that reads ‘how could he not?’ “We’ve made a bet to see how long you’d think you would be able to keep your identity a secret from us. I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long, to be honest, but good on you, Pete.”

“Wow, have you ever actually told anyone because you wanted to tell them?” Michelle asks him, looking over her shoulder, and he groans, dropping his head. She can feel his curls brushing against the back of her neck. “Look on the bright side. At least the whole world doesn’t know. You must be doing something right.”

“Your confidence in me is astounding,” he sighs, exaggerated, and she stifles her reluctant smile. “By the way, Gwen...this is my, uh...my friend. Michelle.”

“Well, circumstances aside, it is the loveliest to meet you, Michelle,” Gwen hums, sticking out a hand to shake, her bracelets jingling. She clasps her palm warmly, figuring she’ll get along just fine with Peter’s roommate.

“You can call me MJ. It’s nice to meet you too,” Michelle says with a small smile, though Gwen’s reaction to that is not nearly the same as it was when Peter introduced her. It turns into a shit-eating grin.

“MJ, huh? Well, well, well, Petey. It’s about time you finally brought your best friend home and introduced her to me.” She looks past her shoulder at Peter, mouthing something that Michelle can’t decipher. When she twists her head, she sees his face is beet-red. “I’ve heard so much about you, MJ.”

“Gwen,” Peter says, pained.

“You’ve talked about me, Parker?” Michelle hums, smiling a little, and he flushes. Even though they hadn’t kept in touch, something in her flutters at the idea that he still brought her up to his new friends. “All good things, I hope.”

“As if there’s anything bad to say about you,” he counters, poking her in the side, and it’s her turn to get warm in the face. He’s lying to appease her, it’s whatever. “Gwen, you want us to get out of your hair? We can just—”

“Nah, you two do your thing, and I’m gonna run to the store to grab some food. Gosh, every time I come home, it’s like the fridge is as bare as can be,” Gwen says, the last part more to herself than anything. When she gives one more significant look at Peter before leaving the room, Michelle turns to him.

“Peter—”

“Em—”

“Oh, you first,” she tells him quietly, noting the way he’s looking at her, but he shakes his head and says it right back. She doesn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay. Um, well. This didn’t occur to me earlier, but if Gwen’s back...she’s gonna want her room.”

“Okay,” he says slowly as if he doesn’t know what she’s getting at. “Well, neither of us really expected she’d be back early, for whatever reason, so—”

“So I should—I should probably give her the room back. I should...head home to my father’s apartment.” Michelle hears nothing but silence after the suggestion drops, Peter swallowing. She’d be leaving him a few days earlier than planned. “And, hey, maybe it’ll make it easier on us if we’re not so...attached at the hip...when we have to say goodbye.”

“Oh.” His voice goes quiet, reluctant, and he wets his lips. “I mean, I—you don’t have to...if you don’t want to? There’s still Harry’s room, or even the couch? You don’t have to go to an empty place.”

Michelle blinks, her smile watery. “I think it would be for the best, Peter.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” he eventually says after a minute, nodding a little too vigorously. He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Everything we do is always for the best, huh. I’ll help you...pack your stuff.”

“What did you want to tell me?”

Peter shakes his head, and his eyes don’t match the barely-there smile on his lips. “It doesn’t matter.”  
  


* * *

  
“You guys really made a mess of the place,” Gwen comments offhandedly, unpacking groceries, while Michelle is gathering her things from around the living room. There’s still the splotch of webbing on the fridge they need to clean off. “Not that I’m mad. Harry’s the neat freak around here.”

“Everyone’s gotta have one,” Michelle replies, distracted. She’s trying her best to keep her mind off what’s actually happening by focusing on what’s not happening. She can’t find her other shoe. It feels so insignificant, but she can’t leave without her other shoe.

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you packing?” Gwen stops forcefully shoving food into the fridge to pause and look over, brows furrowed. It’s just them in the apartment at the moment, Peter having had to run out as Spider-Man to help with a small building fire. 

“Uh, yeah.” Michelle hesitates, straightening up and rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, I figured that I’d get out of your hair, let you have your room back. I didn’t—it was a last minute idea, me staying here. Peter was just being kind.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mind if you stay. Seriously, I mean, from all that Peter’s told me about you, I have to assume he’s thrilled that you’re here.”

“What...has he told you about me?”

Gwen shrugs, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Just little things I’ve picked up on, really. I know in general that you’re one of his best friends. Sometimes he makes remarks about how ‘oh, MJ would’ve loved this’ or ‘oh, MJ would’ve hated that’. I figured you guys are close.”

“I’ve known him for ages, yeah.” Michelle swallows, feeling a bubble of emotion well up in her throat. Her voice comes out weak and quiet. “But I just—I shouldn’t stay any longer.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t press further, but her lips are pursed in concern.

Michelle turns back to her bag, seeing it almost all packed with nothing folded. She’ll just be lugging it a few blocks, anyway, so what does it even matter. Her breath is shaky when she inhales again. “Out of curiosity, what brought you back home early?”

“It’s a funny story,” Gwen mutters, sitting on top of the island counter and bringing a knee up to rest her cheek against. “Picture this. Me, an old flame, and a restaurant bathroom. It’s the holidays and I’m with my family, and the last thing I need to think about is...well. Her. Apparently, she’s my, uh. My soulmate.”

“Your soulmate?” Michelle’s voice comes out winded.

“Time froze, which...you know, it’s weird. I didn’t know what to expect. I mean, this is the first time we’ve hooked up since, well...we’ve turned eighteen. We had a few flings in high school.” Gwen pauses, exhaling an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sure you don’t care about my love life, so I’ll stop while I’m ahead.”

“No, it’s...it’s fine. You can tell me if you’d like,” she offers softly, curious now.

“Okay. I, uh, I don’t really know. I guess I never expected her to be my soulmate, but it makes sense,” Gwen says with a short breath, jumping off the counter. She comes over to sit on the arm of the couch. “It really does. But I came home early because I just needed some time to process it.”

Michelle nods, understanding this to an unreasonable extent. “That’s fair. I mean, the universe choosing who you get to be with is just...fucked up.”

“I don’t see it like that, but it’s a lot, y’know? I’ll probably call her within a day or two.” She has this wistful look on her face that Michelle doesn’t quite understand, but she doesn’t question it further. 

Before Michelle can comment about anything else on the matter, the apartment window opens and Peter stumbles inside, suit covered in soot, but he seems alright. She still goes over and waits as he takes off his mask, seeing the tired smile cracked across his face.

“Got everyone out okay. The house is in shambles, but you can’t save everything,” he says, and she nods, her heart beating in undeniable relief. Her expression must be questioning enough because he grazes the back of her hand with the tips of his fingers. “I’m good.”

“Pfft. I’m glad that you’re good. Never doubted it. Or you.” Michelle’s rambling now, running her tongue, and he gives her a weird look but laughs a little anyway. She feels incredibly warm. It’s hot in there. “I’m almost...I think I’m almost done with packing. Just a few more things.”

“Oh.” He nods, swallowing, looking down at the mask in his hands. “I’m gonna, um, get changed and then I’ll help you, I guess. If you need it.”

Michelle doesn’t have the chance to say yes or no before he darts into the bedroom, door shutting behind him. The pictures shake just a little on the wall. She snaps her mouth shut, red in the face, turning back towards Gwen who just watched the whole exchange.

“You guys,” she exhales, snapping a carrot.

“What about us?”

“It’s just...interesting to me, I guess. Best friends and all that.” Gwen smiles slightly, shaking her head. “I feel like you’re more complicated than that, but it’s not my business. I won’t ask.”

“You can...ask, if you want,” Michelle eventually says, her voice barely above a whisper, but Gwen looks at her anyway with a tentative expression, like she doesn’t want to push too far. They’ve only just met each other, after all. 

“What’s up with you and Pete, then? I mean, I know his friends. Well, his friend, singular, besides Harry and I. I’ve only met Ned, I’ve met his aunt.” She purses her lips. “I’ve never met you before, and I’m just very curious why that is.”

“I go to college in Boston.”

“That’s not too long of a drive. You’ve never visited?”

“It’s hard, you know? To get time to visit.” Michelle’s lying—Gwen can tell that she’s lying. She isn’t sure why it’s so hard to admit the truth even when she said she’d give it if asked. Maybe it’s because he’s just in the other room. “I guess we’ve just been...avoiding each other for a while.”

Gwen nods, albeit slightly confused, which is fair. “Oh, I’m sorry—”

“I know he’s never really talked about it, but we’re, uh...we’re soulmates too,” Michelle finally blurts out, interrupting Gwen, and her eyes widen slightly. But it feels good to tell someone whose opinion is unbiased. “We’re soulmates, and it just...ruined a lot for us.”

“I never...he’s never said anything about having a soulmate before. I just figured he’d never found his yet, but…” She trails off, expression softening just a bit, like she can see where she’s coming from. “It doesn’t seem to have ruined anything too badly. You both look as close as can be.”

“Well. I’m leaving, Gwen. I don’t have any plans to come back in the near future. This,” Michelle says, gesturing around. “Was temporary. I don’t know what we were thinking, or if we were thinking, but it’s not—it can’t last like this.”

“Michelle...why is it so bad that you guys are soulmates?” Gwen asks, gentle, because her eyes are starting to burn again. Her throat is thick with emotion. 

“I want it to be real.” A strand of hair falls in her face, and she doesn’t tuck it back, a tear dropping onto the rug beneath her feet. “And I just—I can’t stand the possibility of any of this not being real at all.”

“Does it matter if it’s real...if he makes you happy?”

Michelle swallows the lump in her throat, seeing his bedroom door crack open in her peripheral vision. He steps out, and she thinks it’s safe to say he’s heard her if the watery look in his eyes is any indication. She turns to Gwen and her voice catches when she says, “Can you just...take care of him? When I’m gone.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for these past few years?” Gwen replies, a half-smile on her face. It’s not pitying, but she clearly feels for them. Maybe that hurts more. “But MJ—”

“I just need to find my other shoe, and then I’ll leave.” She turns around, pushing a shaky hand through her hair. “For god’s sake, I don’t know—I can’t remember where the hell I put it. I can’t—”

“I have it.” Peter holds it in one his hands, squeezing the sole hard enough that it could break. She inhales sharply, wiping her face dry with the back of her hand as he approaches. “It...was in my room. Here.”

“Thanks,” Michelle says lamely, quietly, dropping it in her bag when he hands it to her. She’ll zip it up later. “I, uh…”

“Em…”

“Can I just—”

“Yeah,” Peter finishes with a sharp breath, pulling her into his arms, and she feels her chest heave as she closes her eyes. One of his hands tangles in her hair while the other is wrapped around her waist. They sway in place a little, both of them leaning their weight on the other and neither of them speaking.

It takes a moment or two, Michelle being the first to pull away, her hair sticking to her damp face, and the smile she gives him is feeble at best. His hand hesitates and then brushes the wetness away this time, lingering against her skin, tracing her cheekbone, before he drops it.

The minute she looks down, breaks their gaze, that’s when the weight of it all really hits her. It feels worse than she’d thought it would. 

When she bends down to grab her bag, he turns back towards the bedroom, and when she walks over to open the apartment door, he closes his, the click of the lock the only sound she can hear.

Neither of them said goodbye.  
  


* * *

  
It’s hard, still being in New York. It’s even harder being in an empty apartment that’s not even a few blocks away from his. She doesn’t actively think about the fact, but sometimes it hits her when she’s eating dinner alone or when she’s watching the news in the living room with the lights dimmed. 

Spider-Man is becoming more active, throwing himself into more patrols, and she has to turn off the television when she hears a news anchor talk about another armed robbery or a small explosion. Her phone is always handy, but it doesn’t ring. Not that she expects it to.

She knew the moment that she left the apartment, it wouldn’t matter how many more days she would be in the city. That door of communication has closed, but their chapter doesn’t end until she gets in the car, drives back to her dorm in Massachusetts, and tries to move on.

Michelle dumps her microwave dinner in the trash and thinks about the recipe he had given her for the pad thai he’d made. She’s never going to make it, knows it wouldn’t taste nearly as good.

Settling back on the couch, she finds herself staring at the blank television screen for much too long, massaging her temples because her head hurts far too often. She could blame her early hours and late nights, or she could blame the overworking of her brain, or she could simply blame it on the absence of him because that’s what’s causing all of it, anyway. 

But this time, she thinks it’s simply her fault and her fault alone, hurting the way she is—whether it be her head or her heart. Even if they made the decision together, she left and he stayed.

Michelle falls asleep with the television on, right as Spider-Man shows up on the news, getting pummeled by a sandman. The police have to step in, get him to safety—he’s off his game and needs help—but she misses it, waking up to the weather broadcast and not knowing any different.

She’ll be leaving the next day to go back to Boston, and the prospect feels like a stone in her stomach. It’ll be a quick and silent leave. All of her things are packed, anyway, and she’s already said her goodbyes. Mostly.

Just as she’s making herself a bowl of cereal, scrolling aimlessly on her phone for dinner recipes for one, she gets a call. She hesitates, her heart skipping a beat, but she answers anyway.

“Peter?”

“It’s Gwen, actually—”

“What happened? Is he okay?” She takes the split-second of silence to fret, pulling up the newsfeed. There are no trending stories of Spider-Man being fatally wounded. “Why do you have his phone?”

“Don’t worry, he’s fine. Got into a little tussle last night with some sand dude but all that’s really wounded is his ego since the police needed to step in. That’s not why I called, actually.” Gwen hesitates for a beat. “Do you think I could come over for a bit? I’m only using his phone because I don’t have your number.”

“Oh. If you want to. You’d have to do it today. I’m leaving tomorrow,” Michelle says, stirring her dry cereal.

“Okay, cool, cool. Just send the address, I’ll be over around noon,” Gwen says, but before she can hang up, Michelle asks about Peter again, if he’s around. “He just stepped out for a bit. Said he needed to clear his head.”

“Is he okay?” she repeats, quieter.

“He…” Gwen pauses, her voice softening. “I think you already know the answer, MJ. And I’m not saying this to be cruel. You guys are doing what you think is necessary, even if it’s...” 

Michelle runs a tired hand over her jaw, saying, “What is it?”

“I think you already know the answer to that, too,” she says gently, and then there’s a beat of silence on both ends before she continues. “I’ll see you soon.”

She’s left with the sound of dial tone soon thereafter.  
  


* * *

  
“Nice place.”

“It’s pretty empty and...cold,” Michelle replies with a half-smile, gesturing for them to sit down at the table. She makes Gwen a cup of tea but none for herself, still unsure of why she’s there in the first place. “So. What, uh, did you want to talk about?”

“Nothing in particular, if I’m being honest. I just wanted to come over in case you needed a friend,” Gwen hums simply, and it makes Michelle huff out a quiet breath as she looks down at the table. “Of course, I can leave just as easily, but I’ve had my fair share of breakups. I’ve got two shoulders to cry on if you wanted to borrow one.”

“We...it’s not a breakup,” she says in response, hearing the shakiness to hear own laugh, because no. They didn’t even get that far. If she lets herself think about what-if’s, she’ll wonder where they’d be now if they had never kissed, or if it would have even made a difference.

“Sure feels like one though, huh? Or even worse, maybe.” Gwen’s expression is purely empathetic, and it makes Michelle wonder how many times she’s done this—specifically, if she’s already done this with him. “We don’t have to talk about it. Or, we can if that’ll make you feel better.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Michelle echoes, getting herself a cup of tea now and seeing Gwen’s nod in her peripheral vision. “Could we actually talk about you? If you don’t mind.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything.” Michelle sits down with a tentative smile on her face, knowing it doesn’t really matter as long as it takes her mind off things. 

Gwen says that that’s a broad topic, but she mentions her home life, her family. She has a dad in the police force, a brother in the army. She talks about the band she’s in the process of forming, her best friend Miles, her hookup turned soulmate—doesn’t bring up the soulmate part though.

It’s a nice distraction, Michelle thinks, and she almost feels bad for asking Gwen to tell her all of this information just so she doesn’t have to think about her own problems. But she also likes hearing about her life, and if she weren’t leaving, she figures they’d probably become very close friends.

“I’m not kidding,” Gwen laughs, nudging her foot under the table as she peels an orange in her hand, offering Michelle a slice. “We sounded terrible. You’d think that with all these people who grew up playing instruments, we’d be able to harmonize.”

“Sounds like a blast though. If you ever have a show,” she begins to say, not thinking, but then trails off when it hits her again. “Who knows. Maybe one day in the distant future, I’ll come see one.”

Gwen’s expression is wry as she folds her hands together. “It doesn’t have to be that distant. You could...always come back to New York to watch us practice. We try a few times a month.”

“Oh.” Michelle quirks her lips slightly, feeling something in her sink. “Is...is that why you came over, then? To, like...convince me to come back more?”

“If I’m being honest?” She scrubs a hand over her jaw, hesitant. “Initially, yeah. I thought I’d come over for his sake, maybe try to plead some sort of case, but I know—I know it’s not easy for you either. Like I said...I thought you could use a friend. I came for him but I’m here for you too.”

“I mean...thanks. It was a nice distraction, at least,” she says with a barely audible chuckle, shaking her head. “I just don’t think you’re gonna make much of an argument that I haven’t already thought of.”

“Why does it have to be for a reason? Why can’t it just be because you want to? I mean, it’s your life, MJ.” Gwen’s fingers tap sporadically against the table. “And it shouldn’t matter what fate has to say about it.”

Michelle inhales sharply, folding her lips inward. “But it’s not just my decision. Peter and I...we both agreed that this is for the best, and we’ve thought this way since we were kids.”

“Except some people start to become more important than the opinions that don’t hold as much value anymore.” She gnaws on the inside of her cheek, eyes imploring. “By ignoring him, the signs, everything, you’re still letting the universe dictate your life. You know that, right?”

“We simply cannot win,” Michelle says with a shaky laugh, looking down. She knows Gwen has a point but it’s the idea of not being able to choose that person herself that has her reluctant.

“Goddammit, Michelle, yes—you can. And I’m saying this as an outsider, not as someone who wants my friends to be happy.” Gwen takes a deep breath, massaging her temple. “You’re both so stubborn. You keep saying none of what you have is real, but it is real if you just let it be. Being soulmates is not the end of the world.”

“Well.” When time stopped, it sure felt like it was. It felt like everything they’d built up until that point suddenly meant nothing, a rug getting swept out from under their feet.

“No, not ‘well’. Have you ever seen soulmates that met as strangers? Do you ever wonder why they’re assigned at eighteen instead of at birth?” she asks challengingly. “I have a theory, okay? And that is...the universe doesn’t just assign soulmates at random. It gives you time, lets you build relationships and feelings and everything—every little thing that you do feel, that’s all you.”

Michelle swallows thickly, knowing she’s never thought about the logic behind soulmates—figuring there was nothing sensible about them. The idea of how soulmates were chosen, or created, has crossed her mind, but no one knew for sure. It’s not in textbooks, it’s not taught.

“I’ve...never thought about it that way.” How every single person who has a soulmate, it’s with someone they’re already close with or had known at one point. There’s always a history there.

“The soulmate shit is just a little nudge, but hell, if you act like it doesn’t exist, nothing will change. I promise you, MJ, the universe does not control you like you think it does. Not if you don’t let it,” Gwen tells her softly, lips curving in a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s…it’s just hard, you know? To stop thinking about something in the same way you have for so long,” Michelle admits with a shaky exhale but then she thinks about him, wonders how much happier they’d be if they just let that stigma go. She thought the past two weeks were as good as they were going to get. She thought they’d hit the end. “I don’t even know if he...would want—”

“If he had to choose between avoiding a...concept or picking you, do you really think it would be a hard decision?” Gwen rolls her eyes. “It’s not the same as it was before you guys lost each other to the, uh, universe? Which, you know, is embarrassing if you think about it.”

“Ha, ha. Way to make us sound—”

“You are,” she interrupts with a laugh, knowing whatever she was going to say was true, and Michelle has to snort. “But no, really, you realize how much someone means to you when you lose them. So, talking to each other is probably a step in the right direction.”

“Yeah, um. You’re right.” Michele fiddles with her sleeves, a tentative smile overtaking her face. At the very least, Peter and her could talk things out. At the very least, they could remain friends. “Do you think I could, uh, head back to the apartment with you?”

Gwen merely beams, making a sweeping gesture with her arm. “Lead the way, my girl.”  
  


* * *

  
The apartment is empty when she cracks the door open.

Michelle lets herself inside after Gwen. She does have time to kill before her drive back home in a few hours, but she doesn’t know if she wants to spend it in an empty apartment, just waiting for him to get back. She doesn’t like waiting.

“Okay, well, we can’t call him because I still have his phone,” Gwen sighs, taking it out of her pocket and putting it on the counter. “Maybe shout from the rooftops for Spider-Man? Does he respond to, like, a bat-signal? Spider-signal?”

“I’m sure that’s just the nerdy type of thing he’d appreciate,” Michelle huffs, cracking a smile but it quickly drops. She glances at her watch before running a hand through her hair. “Do you think you’d want to stay here and I could run down by the entrance?”

“Oh, you think he’s _not_ going to come in through the window.”

“Who knows at this point. But text me if he does. You do have my number now,” she says, catching Gwen’s smirk, before letting the door close behind her. After heading down in the elevator, she finds herself lingering near the exit, staring out the window as the snow starts to fall, people walking by on the sidewalk and the sun dancing across the horizon line.

But it’s almost funny, the way Michelle doesn’t have to wait for long, her phone dinging with a text that says he was spotted swinging towards the building, towards the window, his favorite thing to do. She heaves a tired sigh and gets back in the elevator, the prolonged wait time fueling her impatience. If she hits the button more than once, it’s no one's business.

When she finally makes it to the apartment once more, Gwen swings the door open this time with an apologetic look on her face. “Sorry, I, uh—I think he went back downstairs? To the...lobby.”

“What? Gwen, I just _came_ from the lobby,” Michelle reminds her, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You told me he was coming in.”

“I thought he was! But he stopped on the fire escape and I think he saw you through the window before I could say anything.”

“Should I go back down then?” she deadpans.

“Why don’t you guys just...meet on the roof? A neutral area.”

“Where the snow is falling and it’s freezing? Love that for me.” Michelle cracks a small smile at Gwen’s laugh, flipping her off as she’s shooed away into the stairwell that leads to the roof. She rubs her hands up and down her arms, her breath fogging in the cold air. 

“MJ?” His voice carries through the whistling wind faster than he can swing to the roof, landing on two feet and stumbling a few more. He nearly crashes into her, and she has to brace herself before he can knock her over. “Hey—hi, sorry.”

“Hey.” She glances around before pulling his mask off, the wind already whipping his hair loose. Her lips inadvertently curl into a small smile, cheeks warm despite the cold. “Hi. Apology accepted.”

“I’ve been...looking for you,” Peter continues, a little breathless, eyes glassy. “And Gwen said you were up here. Are you...what time are you leaving today?”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Michelle says softly, and he nods, his palms sliding down her arms and linking with her hands. “I’ve been looking for you, too. I wanted to talk to you actually—”

“Wait, before you say anything. I just…” He inhales sharply, looking away, towards the setting sun instead. “Before I end up changing my mind again—earlier, I was...I was gonna tell you this thing and then I thought, ‘well, it seems like you’ve already made up your mind’ but I’m going to—I want to tell you anyway. And I know it probably won’t make a difference or change anything, and we can brush it off because who knows if it’s even real—”

“Peter,” she interrupts with a quiet laugh, and he snaps his mouth shut, expression wild, a little manic, as if not getting this out into the space between them will result in catastrophe. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Keep going.”

“Actually. You, uh, you can go first.” Peter crosses his arms over his chest, gesturing for her to start talking. His nervousness is prominent, and it’s making hers even more so. She just wants to know what he’s thinking. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh. Uh, well.” Michelle hesitates. “Gwen, she, uh—she came to talk to me—”

“She did? What...what about?”

“Well, it might’ve been a pity visit,” she tentatively says with a half-laugh. “But she talked about her family, for one. Her band. She brought up the idea of me coming back to see her practices but…”

“But you won’t. You’re leaving,” Peter says, maybe as a reminder to her or a reminder to himself. His smile remains barely there and the little bit that is visible seems more sad than anything. It feels like a cycle of emotions they go through, sad, then happy, and then back to fucking miserable. 

Michelle just wants the cycle to end.

“What if...we’re making a mistake here?” She shifts from one foot to the other, trying to gage his closed expression. “I know that we’re soulmates. I know we’ve felt the same way about them since we were young. But maybe we’re soulmates for a reason.”

“For a reason?” he repeats, his gaze not leaving hers for one moment, and she wonders if that’s hope seeping in at the corners of his eyes. “A reason other than the universe fucking with us?”

“Yeah,” Michelle says, chewing on her lower lip. “I don’t know, it’s just something she mentioned. The fact that we get our soulmates at eighteen is...interesting. Like, we’re the driving force and the universe just follows in our footsteps instead of the other way around.”

“It is interesting. Do you think that’s true?”

“It could be. It might not have anything to do with it. I don’t think we’ll ever really know, but I don’t think it matters if it’s true or not. I just thought it was worth mentioning so that when I suggest we forget about the deal we made to move on, it’ll make more sense.”

“You—you want to?” He swallows, the tension in his shoulders dissipating slowly but surely, and she nods. “I—I mean, yes, yeah, we can do that.”

“You think this is better for us?”

“I think...god, MJ, I think the decision we made that night was one of the worst,” Peter admits with a shaky laugh. “It felt like the worst. And I know we had our reasons that made sense, and we could’ve been mature about the whole ordeal by moving on, but I just—I don’t want to move on.”

Michelle exhales a sigh, probably of relief, a small smile appearing. “That’s...I’m glad to hear that. I don’t want to either.”

“And if that soulmate stuff is true, then even better, but I don’t think it matters if it’s true or not either,” he continues, his eyes flitting across her face. “I just want—I want you in my life, MJ. Always. No matter the reason.”

“Even if it might not all be real?”

“I think it is real. I think you’re the realest part of my life,” Peter says softly, Michelle nodding, unable to help the small smile forming. Her eyes close when she leans into him, and he wraps his arms around her in a tight hug. “I’m sorry we let two years get away.”

“I’m sorry too. But, hey,” she prompts, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes, her hand coming up to cup his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “We’ll make up for it. I’ll see you so much that you’ll get tired of me.”

“Never.” He turns his head slightly to kiss her open palm, and she feels her heart do that thing where it skips a beat only around him. 

“What were you going to say earlier?”

“Hmm?” His face reddens as if he just remembered. “Oh, that. It was just...I was going to tell you because I had nothing else left to lose. You were going to leave, and I thought ‘fuck it’, but…”

“Tell me anyway,” she says with a small, amused smile.

“Okay.” Peter hesitates, incredibly flushed, before leaning forward a little, pressing his lips to her cheek. She tries to temper the heat rising, feeling the same rush she had when they were on the roof at eighteen. “I’m very much...” He kisses her other cheek. “In love with you.” When he pulls back to look her in the eyes, his own are glistening slightly. “Is...that okay?”

“I think…” Michelle pauses, smiling, tilting his chin a bit so that their noses brush, their lips touch for a moment, the snowflakes slowing to a halt around them. Two years later, and they find themselves like this in the end anyway. “We can make that work, Peter.”

“Yeah?” He laughs softly, kissing her again. “So very glad that you’d take a chance on me.”

“I’ve had feelings for you since high school, so,” she reminds him, and he grins because yeah, it’s nice to know that even after all of these years pass and all of these things changed, some things never have and never will.

“When do you have to leave?”

“At this rate, we should have all the time in the world.”

“Do you want to come inside for a bit then?” Peter asks, pressing his lips into a knowing smile, and she has to snort.

“Ten minutes?” she teases, and he drops her another kiss, lingering and gentle, the horns of New York blaring to a halt in the background. Sometimes, it does feel nice when time stops and it’s just them.

“No more, no less.”  
  


* * *

  
“Well, this feels painfully familiar.”

“Be glad that we’re not in your bed this time,” Peter hums, pulling the comforter higher around Michelle as he presses a kiss to her bare shoulder, the light from the hallway shining in their eyes. “But, like, knock next time, Gwendy.”

“Your suit is on the floor. Your window is open. Do you ever learn?” Gwen deadpans, shucking her headphones and rolling her eyes. “Though, I am glad you two got your shit together. You can thank me with a fruit basket or, you know, my laundry still needs done after last time—”

Peter throws a pillow at the door, and she slams it closed after a grumble, leaving the two of them laughing to themselves.

“I wonder how your roommates put up with you,” Michelle comments with a small smile, content, happy, and he buries his face in her neck, peppering kisses. She hates that it took them so long to get to this point.

“They don’t. I’m annoying.”

“You really are.” She twists her head a bit, cupping his jaw to catch his lips briefly. He hums, pleased, palm skimming the smooth skin of her back. “You’re lucky I’m used to it.”

“And I appreciate you for that,” Peter says, tucking a curl behind her ear, and she lets herself relish in the moment for a little longer before standing up, the comforter slipping from around her shoulders. The clock on the wall keeps ticking. 

“Well, it’s almost seven,” she sighs, knowing that if it were up to her, she’d stay for the rest of the weekend. “Pretty sure we’ve stalled long enough. I’ve got a three hour drive.”

“Do you have to go?” he mumbles despite knowing that answer, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. 

Michelle merely smiles and promises that she’ll see him again soon. He holds her tighter, says that he likes hearing those words, reminds her that he loves her and he’ll wait for her to return home. It makes her feel warm in the cold room, the idea that she loves him too and that she has a reason to come back to New York, to come back to him. It cushions the prospect of leaving.

She says goodbye to Gwen, giving her a tight hug and a promise that she’ll be back to watch a few practices, a few real shows. She wishes her good luck with her soulmate but knows they’ve already got something good going on—they know what they’re doing.

Peter comes with Michelle to her father’s apartment to grab her things, the suitcase and a few bags she’d left behind. Her car is parked outside, ready to drive her back to college after break. Two weeks suddenly feels like it passed so fast, and she wonders where the time went.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” she says, her lips curving slightly, and he nods, dropping a lingering kiss to her temple.

“Be safe.”

“ _You_ be safe.” She doesn’t think she has to mention Spider-Man again, him already smirking. “I’ll see you soon, Pete. Some weekend. Maybe a holiday. Maybe I’ll just surprise you.”

“A ‘see you soon’ is much better than a goodbye, so I’ll take whatever. Who knows, I might just have to visit you,” he responds, and she grins, not dropping his gaze even as she gets in the car, rolling her window down. “Wait. I know the holidays are over and everything, but you were the one who said I should make use of this?”

Peter pulls out a strand of mistletoe from his pocket, waving it in the air, and she stifles her snort before meeting him halfway. She thinks she could be frozen in time with him forever.

“Love you,” Michelle says softly.

“Love you, too.” He backs away from the car as she puts it in gear and turns onto the road, his silhouette visible in the rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller until she can no longer see him. But her mind is already counting the days until she can come back to the city that’s starting to feel like home again.

_Good, old New York._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy endings galore! <3 you’ll never catch me doing another soulmate au
> 
> unless

**Author's Note:**

> let’s see if this stays at 2 chapters...
> 
> update: 3 chapters now oops


End file.
